The Stubbornness of Fools
by onthewayside
Summary: Varric discovers that Hawke has an aversion to healers.  Well, to one in particular. Set after Act I.  FemHawke/Anders


**A/N: **First off, a huge thank you to those who read and reviewed and favourited my first DA2 fic! I certainly wouldn't have posted this one if it wasn't for you! I have made sure that everyone's name is spelled correctly this time (in case anyone was wondering, I have corrected Isabela's name in my first fic) but please, if there are any errors with _anything_, let me know. As for this fic, it's just another bit of light fluff I couldn't seem to resist writing. What can I say? I like writing fluff and those three year gaps in between the Acts of the game just leave so much to the imagination...Enjoy!

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**The Stubbornness of Fools**

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"Hawke, I think you have a problem."

"I have lots of problems right now, Varric," Hawke sighed. "You're going to have to be more specific." She met the dwarf's worried gaze over the broken edges of the crate that she was leaning against. "Although if this has anything to do with the fact that I seem to have led us into yet another trap, then you can save the criticism for later. I'm not in the mood to hear it right now."

"This? This wasn't a trap." Varric waved a casual hand toward the numerous bodies littering the dusty ground. "This was just rotten luck. I doubt these idiots would have recognized a shipment of rare Orlesian silks if it was dropped on their heads. No, the problem I'm talking about has nothing to do with you getting us into trouble down here for the fifth time in a row—"

"Actually, this is the eighth time we're had trouble here," Hawke interjected, grimacing as she fought a searing pain currently starting to travel through her body. "Next time I decide to head down to these abandoned tunnels, I give you full permission to smack me."

Varric came closer to the woman who was very nearly lying on the floor, looking more worried than before. "I'll hold you to that. Now I really think—"

"I know, I know. I should have been better prepared for this," Hawke filled in for her friend with a roll of her eyes. "You know, just as I was gearing up to leave, I thought I should order a few more health potions. But then that silly little voice in my head made a good argument for saving a few coins—"

"Uh, you might want to focus—"

"—and then I thought, 'well, heck, three health potions for a ten minute walk through a few abandoned mine tunnels to check for a crate filled with fancy dresses? That should be more than enough.' I had assumed that by now we had cleared out most of the scum who skulk around down here-"

"Hawke, just wait a—"

"—I mean, how many competing factions of low-life gangs could _possibly_ inhabit these rotten tunnels anyway? Do they take turns coming down here or something? It's like they have some sort of schedule set up among them—"

"Now is not the—"

"—'Okay, Carta thugs, it's your turn down abandoned mine tunnel number three, just watch out for the blood mages' sacrificial altar arrangement. You know how they get when you move their furniture'—"

Varric took a deep breath, counted to ten, then, as loudly as he could, declared, "Hawke, _you have an __arrow stuck in your side_."

That shut her up for a second.

She blinked once. Twice. "Really?"

"_Sweet_ _Maker's_ _balls_, girl, take a look!" Varric exclaimed in a rare loss of temper, pointing to the arrow that was very clearly poking out of Hawke's right side. "You didn't _feel_ that?"

Hawke's eyes widened as she caught sight of the long shaft that was, yes, currently attached to her armoured side. She closed her eyes briefly and came to the logical conclusion that it was said arrow that was causing the constant, increasing pain which was beginning rob her blindly of her senses. "I guess I was too busy trying to back stab that last little slime of a man to feel it. That, and I downed one of those fantastic elf root potions a little while ago. They really numb everything."

"Including your brain," Varric commented dryly. "I take it that potion is starting to wear off. You're starting to look you smelled something rotten."

"I feel like I ate something rotten and then it started eating _me_ from the inside out," Hawke admitted, pressing a hand to her side as she gingerly examined the wound. "At least it didn't go too deep. This handy new armour really does make a difference."

"Deep or not, you still have an arrow cutting up those precious insides of yours. An arrow that needs to be removed as soon as possible." Shaking his head, Varric bent down on one knee and offered his shoulder as support. "Come on, Hawke, it's time to go see the nice healer. Give me your arm."

Hawke blinked again as it took her a minute to register that she did in fact need a healer and that the closest healer was just above them in Darktown. That particular healer also happened to be someone that she was doing her utmost best to avoid at the moment, a matter in which she had been quite successful over the last few months. She was certainly not looking to go about changing that fact any time soon.

She redoubled her efforts to wrestle with the burning jolts of pain that were coursing through her system as she let Varric slowly help her to feet. Once standing—and using the dwarf as a handy, if stunted, crutch—she waited until the dizziness passed before opening her mouth. "You know, Varric, I'm not feeling all that bad. I don't know if you need to rush me to a healer just yet."

It was hard to tell whether her dwarven companion thought she was stupid or just plain crazy. Whatever the case, the look he gave her could have pulverized a golem. "Listen, sweetheart, you know that pointy, dangerous end of an arrow? Yes? Well that pointy, dangerous piece is _inside of you_ right now, grinding down your insides. And the thing is, if it stays in there much longer, you're going to have bigger problems than losing a dash of pride over going to a healer."

"I hate being called 'sweetheart'," she fumed, stubbornly clutching Varric's shoulders with every ounce of energy she had left as they shuffled down the tunnel. She was now willing to admit she did need a healer—and one that was close by—for every step forward she took caused the pain to blossom, which in turn was wearing at her usually high threshold for pain. Still, she didn't have to like the idea. "And I absolutely hate going to healers, especially healers who can't lighten up once in a while." _Most of all, I hate going to attractive healers with bad fashion sense and gentle hands and complexes the size of Ferelden._

"The guy is possessed, Hawke. You should give him a break. Not everyone can be sunshine and roses and looking on the bright side." She couldn't see Varric's face from her eagle's eye vantage point, but she heard the gruffness in his voice. Funny, if she didn't know any better, she would think Varric had a soft spot for the healer. "Besides, I thought you liked him. You dragged him along for the ride a lot, at least you did before the whole Deep Roads experience. Now you seem to forget he even exists."

"I am very well aware of Anders' existence, thank you," Hawke bit out. All too aware, especially when they were in close confines. She couldn't explain the odd sparks she felt whenever she got within a certain distance of him but, as he had made it quite clear, those small sparks could never grow into something more. The very memory of that particular conversation had her gritting her teeth harder. "And I don't bring him along any more because I already used up his precious healing resources in those lovely underground roads your kin built. I thought he might appreciate having a quiet few months getting his clinic back to order. We were gone a long while down there, after all."

"That doesn't explain why you won't visit him."

"How do you know I don't visit him?"

"He told me," Varric answered simply with a small shrug. "I drop by his clinic here and there. Sometimes he'll come to visit me at the Hanged Man. I thought he might appreciate having a friend around. Don't think he's got too many of those in this city."

Despite the burning, fiery pain setting every nerve alight and despite the lethargy that was setting into her tired limbs, Hawke felt a small twinge of guilt. "Anders never struck me as the social sort."

"I could make some quip about his having a constant social life thanks to his little buddy Justice, but the fact is, I feel sorry for the guy. And he's got a pretty good sense of humour when he's not complaining about Templars and the Circle." They were nearing the exit to Darktown, which was a good thing as Hawke was finding it a great effort to put one foot ahead of the other. "It wouldn't kill you to drop by his clinic now and then—you drop by to see me and Isabela often enough that I know you have the extra time. And you put up with our little elven Daisy's cooking, which takes more balls than facing down a dragon. Hell, you even check up on that broody elf when he's just as likely to throw something at you as offer you a dose of hospitality. At least Anders is willing to have a conversation that doesn't include veiled threats or insults."

"You've got one too many set of eyes in this city," Hawke said wryly, sweat beading on her forehead as she forced herself towards the exit that seemed to be forever in the distance. The darkness that had been wavering at the edge of her vision was creeping in and no matter how much she tried, it couldn't be shaken off. It also didn't help that her limbs were no longer being responsive; every little bump in the path caused her to stumble and pitch about.

Varric stopped in his tracks and peered up at her from underneath her arm and said suddenly, "Hawkers need to mop. Eye ills go and bring feelers". Or at least that was she heard come from his moving lips and when she tried to respond in kind, she discovered her own mouth wasn't going to be a good mouth and behave. Rather, she spouted something in a tongue she never knew she could speak and tripped again and stumbled over and on to the gibberish speaking dwarf who, up until this point, had been able to hold her weight rather successfully.

The last thing she remembered, besides the stabbing pain in every fibre of her body, was the taste of dirt in her mouth and the stench of sweat and leather and blood in her nostrils and something being said about Andraste's large breasts echoing in her ears before the darkness mercifully took over.

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The first thing to return was her hearing. Familiar voices drifted about in the darkness and she struggled to focus on them.

"—lucky that you got to me when you did. Any longer and I might not have been able to close the wound. How are you doing?"

"Besides the twisted wrist, cracked ribs and bruised pride? Not so bad, considering. She's heavier than she looks."

"I'll pretend you're referring to the amount of junk she hauls around in that backpack." Her alert ears picked up the sound of a sigh from somewhere nearby. "Next time this happens, please consider sending someone to get me. Going on long walks with an arrow in your side is the healing equivalent of signing a death warrant. As it is, she's going to need a few more days of bed rest before she can go around beating up gangs again."

"I vote you to be the lucky one to tell her. And trust me, if I had thought she would play nice and stay put, I would have left her somewhere safe." Another sigh, this time from somewhere near her side. "She's a stubborn pain in the ass sometimes."

She heard a soft chuckle. "You can say that again."

Well, this conversation had certainly been going on too long. With a great and valiant effort, Hawke managed to unglue her eyelids and heave herself to her elbows, letting out a very unladylike groan in the process. Blinking against the bright candlelight, she realized that she was in one of the new private stalls that had been built in the clinic—a small luxury allowed only by the heap of riches the Deep Roads had provided. She also discovered that the familiar voices belonged to two familiar people, one of who was currently sitting next to her on the small cot she was sprawled across, the other sitting on a chair nearby.

The one sitting on the edge of the tiny bed, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. "You really shouldn't be sitting up that quickly. I only managed to put your right side back together a little while ago." Anders handed her a mug. "Here, drink up. Your throat is probably parched."

She managed to sit up fully and accepted the water with a look of profound gratitude. She was surprised to see a small spark of warmth flare into his brown eyes and the slightest crinkling at the edge of his eyes as he accepted her thanks. Unsure of what to make of _that _expression, she instead turned her focus onto the dwarf lounging across from her. He was a much safer target than the man at her side, whose very body heat she could feel seeping through the thin blankets that were wrapped around her.

"I heard that about my weight, Varric," she informed the dwarf, wishing her voice didn't sound quite so rough. "And remind me to saddle you with the backpack the next time we go hunting outlaws. In fact, remind me to saddle you with the backpack for every single venture from here until forever."

Varric smirked, glancing at the mage with a raised brow. "You might want to check for a fever, Blondie. That threat sounded pretty weak for our usually witty Lady Hawke here."

"Blondie?" She echoed with a questioning look at Anders, momentarily forgetting that she had, not long ago, sworn to avoid any and all casual conversation, flirtation,and general contact with the man.

"After a few pints of ale last week, Varric decided I needed a nickname. Though I can't say I've ever considered myself a true blond. More of a reddish blond if anything." Anders smiled—smiled at _her_—and Hawke felt a strange, liquid heat begin to coil in her abdomen that she was certain had nothing to do with the healing process. She had forgotten just _how_ nice his smile could be. "Has he come up with a nickname for you yet?"

She shook her head, fervently trying to banish the flush she felt creeping along her cheeks. "No, not yet. He seems to think using my last name constantly works just as well."

"I _might _start calling you Featherbrain if you pull another stunt like this one," Varric put in, his words laced with warning despite the smile on his lips. Leaning closer to the bed, his eyes narrowed suddenly. "Hey, you know what? You're looking kind of red. Maybe you do have a fever."

She could only manage a sputter of a protest before Anders was leaning down over her, resting a surprisingly cool hand on her forehead. Whatever resolution she had made about avoiding him was quickly thrown to to the wind as his gentle fingers grazed her skin, his eyes suddenly heavy with worry.

Worry meant solely for _her_, the woman who had spent the last few months doing everything in her power to stay away from him simply because he had gently refused her advances.

Perhaps it was due to the fuzzy, reflective feeling that healings always left her with, but the twinge of guilt she had felt in the abandoned tunnels was nothing compared to the guilt she felt now. Here was a man—a decent man despite the 'friend' he was harbouring inside—that had offered to follow wherever she led, an offer she had used over and over again for months. And how had she repaid such loyalty? By dragging him through the hellish Deep Roads for _weeks_ and then abandoning him once they were home, despite knowing that he was pretty much alone in this unforgiving city. She owed him more than stony silence and he certainly deserved better than polite cordiality. If anything, she at least owed him a pint or two at the Hanged Man.

"You do seem a little warm," Anders mused, letting his hand drop back to his side. "I might as well mix you up a mild potion in any case. It will help the healing process too so you can be up and about swinging your daggers around this city in no time at all."

"And I should probably be heading up to Hightown to let your mother know that you're going to be hanging around down here for a little while. And before you say it," Varric said quickly as Hawke started to object, "I already know how to make it sound like your predicament is nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. Maker knows I've had plenty of practice."

Both men stood and started for the makeshift door. There was no reason why such an ordinary action should set her mouth working the way it did—although when she later reflected on the moment, she reasoned that healings had always left her prone to saying and doing silly things and that this particularly lengthy healing had probably removed most, if not all, of her inhibitions—but suddenly she was stumbling over words in an attempt to set things right. "Speaking of my mother, we _were_ hoping to have a nice meal in a few days with everyone who's been such a help over the last few months, and—well, we have a rather big dining room now in this new house and Anders, you have been a great help with everything—not just today but every time you've come along on all those useless errands I can't seem to stop accepting and, well..." Hawke took a deep breath in an effort to stop her rambling. "Anders, what I'm trying to say—actually, what I'm trying to ask is if you'd be interested in coming to dinner?"

She was met with silence. Awkward, uneasy silence. The men had stopped in their tracks and were facing her—no, _staring_ at her as if she had just grown another head. Never one who dealt with such responses well, Hawke felt a need to fill said silence, unwilling to admit even to herself that she was disappointed in the answer. "Honestly, don't worry if you can't make it. You're probably busy with this clinic and Hightown isn't exactly the safest place for an apostate, although I'd be more than happy to open our cellar access if that makes it easier. Anyway, I still have to ask a few people about it. Knowing our little band, I highly doubt they'll all be willing to drink and be merry with each other..."

Her voice trailed off as she watched the smallest, barest hint of a grin begin on the mage's lips and grow into a wide and laughing smile that transformed Anders' usually grim features. It brightened his whole face, his very being, even reaching those lovely eyes that she had believed to be forever tinged with melancholy. He had smiled before but never quite like this. For a fleeting moment, Hawke had the disquieting feeling that she was seeing the face of someone who had existed once before, but the sight of it was so wonderful that she shook the unease off.

_Maker_, he made her skin tingle.

"I can't promise I won't be called away on an emergency, but yes," Anders replied, still grinning at her,"I would love to come. Do you want me to bring anything?"

She couldn't stop her own idiotically cheerful smile from breaking through. "Not at all. Though some hangover remedies might be a good idea if Isabela breaks out that special whiskey she keeps 'finding' on the docks. "

"I'll see what I can do. Now then, I'll go get you that potion before your fever gets any worse."

And with that he was gone and whatever strange and heady spell that was weaving itself around them faded away. As much as she missed its absence, she still couldn't quell the glow that had started within at seeing Anders look truly happy for the first time since she had met him. Maybe, just maybe—despite everything that had been said—there was still a chance to win over the reluctant mage.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Hawke out of her sunny reverie. Startled, she found Varric watching her with something akin to amusement. "I don't know who will be more embarrassed by your smooth invitation tomorrow: you or me. But," he added with a wink, "it's nice to see you taking my advice for once. You did good, Hawke. And I assume I'm also invited to this shindig?"

"Of course you are," Hawke retorted. "So is everyone else if they're willing to come."

"Good luck with that," the dwarf laughed as he turned towards the door. "Now why don't you be a good girl and try to get some beauty sleep so I can keep my lies to your mother to a minimum?"

"Remember, keep it positive and upbeat. And minimal detail is key."

Varric shot her an derisive look. "Yeah, yeah. I've got it covered. Oh, and _Featherbrain_? Sweet dreams," he called out over his shoulder and only just managed to shut the door before the pillow she had launched at him made contact with his laughing face.

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_end_


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